And the Bible didn't mention us
by Gray Doll
Summary: 'There will more than enough time to think of death and pain and revenge when the serial killer is upon them, or they upon him. But for now, Lisbon enjoys her unexpected freedom with her husband and her team. And Lorelei, who must be the last person she ever would have expected to have along for a tour around the world.' Season 5 AU, eventual Jisbon


_Disclaimer_: I do not own the Mentalist nor its characters - if I did, Jane and Lisbon would be married with kids by now.

_Notes_: A random plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone. It popped up about a week ago, when I sat back and re-watched the entire fifth season of the Mentalist (I still don't know why I did that, but it was worth it). Honestly, I was planning to write a season 6 tag-fic, taking into account everything that has happened in seasons 5 and 6, but then I started typing and this happened. For some reason, I wanted Lorelei in the story, so yeah, everyone, she's alive and well in this. Obviously, this is a season 5 AU, starting shortly after Jane bails Lorelei out of prison... This was going to be a one-shot, just a couple thousand words, but my muse was like "Nope!". It won't be too long, it is done in three parts, this being the first one.

_Warnings_: There will be some swearing and violence, and yes, sexual situations (thus the M rating), but that comes a bit later, I'm afraid.

* * *

**AND THE BIBLE DIDN'T MENTION US**

_One day Red John will find them, and he will kill them. It will be slow, and it will be painful, but at least it won't come as a surprise._

_Or maybe they will find him first. This brief break might give him a false sense of security, and then he'll slip up - everyone does, in the end. If he does, she knows she won't be able to stop Jane – or herself, for that matter – from killing the monster who has taken almost everything from them._

_But she tries not to think of that. There will more than enough time to think of death and pain and revenge when the serial killer is upon them, or they upon him._

_For now, she enjoys her unexpected freedom with her husband and her team. And Lorelei, who must be the last person she ever would have expected to have along for a tour around the world._

* * *

**I – a saint's predicament**

Teresa Lisbon always tried to do the right thing.

She always put the safety and well-being of others before her own, stubbornly ignoring the small part of her that kept warning her that one day, her selflessness might be her downfall. She believed in making the world a better place – or at least trying to. Ever since her mother's death, she had fought to preserve whatever sparkle of hope had remained in her and her brothers' lives, and later on the protectiveness she had always felt over her siblings manifested itself into a need to protect strangers as well; she found that she wanted to help them see the light in the tunnel at the end, even try and walk them safely to it.

Bringing criminals to justice was a way of doing just that, and even though she could never make up for the lost lives, she could at least offer justice, some sort of closure to the bereaved families.

She always knew that this was her purpose in life. Only now it has been taken from her, and this time Lisbon is almost certain her suspension is not going to be temporary.

She has tried to be angry at her consultant for this, but she's come to nothing, knowing that this is her fault as much as it is his.

Patrick Jane, with his golden curls and the smile that can stop traffic. With his wild stunts and witty little quips. With his paper frogs and delicious sundaes.

Patrick Jane, who has left her and the team without a word, leaving them to deal with the consequences of yet another failed attempt to catch Red John.

She doesn't blame him for this, at least not entirely, unlike her former teammates. She is very much aware that Cho and Rigsby would love to find the silver-tongued man and punch him to the ground, while Grace would just want to slap the hell out of him.

But Lisbon knows that she too is at fault, though she dares not admit it out loud. If only she had been more persistent, if only she had refused to believe that Jane had indeed tracked down the serial killer, if only she had been a proper cop and not let herself be tricked by her consultant yet again...

She feels a stinging pain in her chest every time she absentmindedly reaches for her Glock and finds emptiness where the familiar weight of her loyal weapon should be. She feels bare without the CBI badge tucked carefully inside her breast pocket, but still, the reality of no longer being Senior Agent of the Serious Crimes Unit is nowhere near as painful as knowing that Jane is out there, still madly looking for the man who has managed to slip right through their fingers yet again.

She had made a promise to herself, when she had first met Patrick Jane, that she would try to help him see the truth, that she would try to save him from the self-destructive path of vengeance and show him that there are things worth living for other than revenge, and now she can't help but feel that she has failed, miserably.

Perhaps one day she will get her job back. When the Director decides that there are less closed cases without her, he will probably re-employ her. Or she could try out for a different Unit. And of course, she will stay in touch with her teammates, because they have become so much more than just co-workers. They are her friends – no, they're her family.

But for now, she must focus on even more important things.

Like the pressing need to find Jane, before he ends up in jail, or worse, dead.

Like the anonymous letter she is now holding in her hand, along with a grand bouquet of blood-red roses.

She promptly thanks the scrawny teenager who's standing impatiently at her doorstep while signing the paper he's holding out to her, and gives him a small tip before nodding her head and closing the door.

She takes a deep breath to steady herself and slowly retreats into the safety of her house, her fingers trembling ever so slightly around the cream colored envelope. She can't imagine anyone who would send her a letter instead of calling her on the phone, and she knows no-one that would ever send her flowers. She tries to tell herself that it might be Jane, hoping to make amends from wherever he has disappeared to, but deep down she knows that is not the case.

She searches for a card among the roses and promptly throws the bouquet in the trash can when she finds none, not sparing it a second look. Now her focus is solely on the seemingly harmless envelope that she opens with hesitant hands. She is mildly surprised when she doesn't find an epistle inside, but instead there is another paper, one that is black-and-white and smeared with what seems like red paint.

She stares at herself in the photograph, her smiling face framed by a red circle that has undoubtedly been drawn by methodical gloved fingers. She briefly considers sending it to Forensics but she is certain there will be no DNA or fingerprints on it other than her own, and decides it isn't worth the trouble.

Evening finds Lisbon sitting in her kitchen, her gaze alternating between the picture in her hands and the red roses lying crumpled in the dustbin. A thousand thoughts swirl in her head, each worse than the last, and she can't help but wonder why Red John would send her a warning before actually coming after her. She comes to the conclusion that it is probably because he wants to scare her – mess with her head until she is nothing but a terrified shell of her former self when he finally comes to get her.

The realization is more infuriating than she had expected. With an anger she has not experienced in years, she tears the picture in two, then four pieces and throws them on the ground, her eyes burning with tears she fights hard not to spill.

She is not a frightened little girl. She is strong woman, she has faced California's worst criminals and has stayed upright, refusing to crumble under the overwhelming pressure time and time again. A faint smile crosses her lips when she remembers Annie calling her "badass".

She is still standing, and she will _not_ let herself be brought down by the twisted mind games of a psychopath.

As the clock ticks away, Lisbon remains curled up in the uncomfortable wooden chair, staring at the empty white wall across the room, thinking. The last thing she'll do is wait for the serial killer to come and get her. The day may come that he will, but when it does she's going to stand her ground.

But until then, there are things that need to be done. And one of them is to find Jane, before he sets up another impossible ruse to catch Red John. He is certainly one of the most brilliant men Lisbon has met in her entire life, but experience has shown time and time again that he isn't able to do this alone. Her gaze falls on the torn pieces of the photograph on the floor, and she decides, there and then, that if they are to catch the serial killer, once and for all, they have to be meticulous and careful.

And they can only do this if they are together. She knows that it won't be easy to locate him, especially not with the rekindled threat of Red John hanging above her head. Given her former consultant's ingenuity and cunning nature, and the ruthlessness of the serial killer, she understands that she's in for some serious trouble.

...But there might be someone who can help her.

* * *

Lorelei Martins is not evil, that much Lisbon knows. She is a woman who's had a rough past and an even rougher present, having only recently snapped out of the bubble she was comfortably living in.

Lisbon has never quite appreciated the woman, having taken an instant dislike to her the moment she had shamelessly claimed that she and Jane had been lovers. Back then, even though Lisbon would not admit it, it had been more jealousy than anything else that had fueled her anger, but as weeks had gone by many revelations had been made, and Jane's own confessions had been enough to somehow appease her.

She might not be a kind and innocent woman, but no, Lorelei is not evil. And Lisbon herself has not been pure light for many years, and somewhere in the middle is where the two women decide to meet, in a murky pub in the middle of the Californian desert.

Away from the stressful interrogation rooms of the CBI, Lorelei looks even more remarkably calm as she takes her seat opposite Lisbon and orders a black coffee. A small smile is playing on her lips, however it looks slightly forced. Lisbon knows that fear and anxiety are simmering beneath that nonchalant facade, mirroring her own feelings.

"So." A single word, spoken in a soft, yet somehow unsure voice, that indicates the awkwardness (and of course, unlikeliness) of the situation.

"So," Lisbon repeats, locking gazes with the other woman. She tries to fathom these dark eyes, to decipher the emotions running through them, but oddly, kind of like with Jane, there are close to none. Apart from the slight apprehension, that may very well be just her imagination, Lisbon can only see carefully constructed equanimity.

They remain silent for several long seconds, gauging each other's mood and temperament, until the waitress returns with their beverages. They politely thank her and once they are alone again, the rest of the patrons paying them no mind, Lorelei speaks first.

"I find it hard to believe that you dragged me all the way here just to stare at me."

So it's time to lay out their cards. Better sooner than later. "I wanted to talk."

"About what?"

"You know."

"Red John?"

"Not only."

"Oh." Lorelei gingerly sips her coffee, only to scrunch up her face and set the mug back down with a small thump. "God, this thing is awful. Anyway. What are we here for? I mean, _truly_ here for? You can't have set this up in the hopes that I'm going to give you Red John."

Lisbon shakes her head, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. She briefly revises her tactic before speaking, "No, I don't think you'll do that. And I'm not here for that. But, I doubt you haven't heard of some recent... events."

Lorelei cocks her head to the side, eying her carefully. "I have, of course. But what does the fact that you're suspended have to do with me?"

"It's not only that. I wouldn't have called _you_ if it was just that." It is relieving, really, that Lorelei seems to be more apathetic than nippy. She supposes it'll be easier to deal with dispassion rather than derision right now. "Jane's gone. And I want to find him."

Lorelei arches an eyebrow, clearly bemused. "Patrick's left you?"

"Yes." The answer comes off sharp and bitter. "But-"

"I'm sorry, but I find that hard to believe. Patrick loves you, he wouldn't just run away like that."

Lisbon tenses at Lorelei's words, her mind frantically searching for ways to change the subject. She does not need yet another reminder of the heartbreaking conversation she shared with her consultant the night before he disappeared. Admitting her love to him had not been as painless as she'd thought it'd be, and his own feelings for her could not be any shadier at this point. "Well, he did. And I want to find him, before he... Before he does anything stupid."

Lorelei gives a small shrug. "Well, judging from the last time he went rogue, I can't say he'll steer clear of stupidity." She pauses for a moment, the recollection of how terribly wrong that ruse to trap Red John had gone still fresh in both women's minds. "But I still don't see how I can help you with this... or why I should do it."

"It's not only that," Lisbon says for the second time, and at that Lorelei sits forward, resting her chin on the ball of her hand, a faint glint of interest in her eye.

"There's _more_ to it?"

"I received a gift earlier this week."

"Oh?" Lorelei smiles. "From whom?"

"Your friend," Lisbon replies, putting great effort into making her voice sound calm and nonchalant.

Following through with Lisbon's expectations, Lorelei sits back abruptly, frowning. "My... Wait, Red John sent you a gift?"

A nod.

"What kind of... gift?" Lorelei mutters, and for the first time that day she seems fairly jittery.

"A bouquet of red roses, and a picture of me inside a target-like circle. Made of red paint... or something else. I don't really want to know. And I guess that means something."

The silence between them is almost tangible, making both women shift uncomfortably in their seats. Lorelei looks down at the table, her fingers clenching and unclenching around her mug of coffee. "I don't know," she says eventually, eyes still downcast. Her voice is barely above a whisper, nearly inaudible, a stark contrast to her previous self-assured tone. "I don't know. Maybe he-"

"Wants to kill me. Yeah. I got that." Lisbon hopes she could feel as unconcerned as she sounds. "And this is where you come in, and I ask for your help. And offer you mine, of course." Lorelei frowns, and she rushes to explain. "Look, I know how this sounds, but I've thought about it, over and over, and it's the only way I think the two of us can cope with everything."

"Are you suggesting that we work together?" Lorelei folds her arms loosely about her chest, casting Lisbon a calculating look. "Why? How do I know I can trust you?"

"It's simple, really. You've got nothing left to lose. Your life is already on the line, and so is mine."

"Simple? So we will join forces, and everything will work out because we're the invincible Lady Squad?" Lorelei's words are laced with sarcasm, and it takes every ounce of Lisbon's willpower to remain collected. This is important, and she has to make the other woman understand it.

"You want out of the life Red John's forced upon you. You want to find out if it was really him who killed your sister. You want a free will, and to never be manipulated and used by men again. You want to stay alive."

Lorelei shakes her head. "Perhaps I do," she admits slowly, her voice quivering ever so slightly. "And can _you_ give me all those things?"

They lock gazes, staring intently at each other. "I can try. I can't promise that I will, but I can definitely promise that I will try my damnedest to keep us both safe. And help you out."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because I'm neither one of _them_. Because I know the chances of having a rapport here are next to none, but I believe that we can communicate, and I truly want to help... and because I want your help too."

"With what?" Lorelei frowns, her dark eyes fixed intently on Lisbon.

"You know. We're going to have to find Jane. And stay alive until we manage to do that. And then... we'll see what we'll do with your dear friend. Neither of us can do that alone, I think, not with bloody targets painted on our backs."

Lorelei bites her lip deep in thought, slowly shaking her head. "I can't offer you immunity, Agent Lisbon. I can't even provide that for myself."

"That's not what I'm asking for. You can provide knowledge. And your admittedly impressive skills at evasion." Lisbon smiles, and Lorelei does the same, if only for a nanosecond.

"Well, I'm touched."

"I'm sure you are." She hesitates for a second. "How long?"

"Can I keep us hidden? Safe?" At Lisbon's nod, Lorelei shrugs, almost imperceptibly. "Months. Years. Many years, maybe, but I get that's not the point of all this."

"No, it's not. I think a few months will do. But... can _I_ trust _you_?"

"That's your choice to make, Agent. You'll either trust me fully, or not at all."

They fall quiet once again, the only sounds being the muffled chatter of the few other patrons, the nondescript music and the distinct clinging of glass. Each one gives the other a brief study before Lisbon breaks the oddly comfortable silence between them.

"Partners, then?"

At that, Lorelei smirks, but for once, she doesn't say anything.

* * *

All Lisbon has to do now is wait.

She throws some clothes, money she lifted from the bank a few days ago and a faded photograph of her at the age of sixteen with her brothers into a small satchel, and books a room in a motel near the coast.

The night before she leaves her house for the last time she curls up in her worn-out couch, with a cup of steaming coffee at her feet, and writes down short notes to VanPelt, Rigsby and Cho. She makes sure not to give any details of her plan away in her letters, but she is pretty sure everyone will make out that she's ventured out into the world in search for Jane, even without her explicitly recounting her intentions on paper for them.

With shaking hands, she tells them that they have been and always will be her best friends, her family. She tells them to respect her choice and resume their lives and their good work at the CBI. She tells them that she loves them.

She tells them goodbye.

She doesn't bother to lock the door after she steps out of the place she can no longer call home; she wipes back angry tears on her way to the motel, reminding herself that she made her choice and now has to stick with it.

She knows she had better get some sleep before she must leave this temporary hiding place, but she tosses and turns in the screeching bed until the first crack of dawn. A few seconds after the clock strikes six the sound of knuckles against wood resonates in the small motel room, and Lisbon throws her bag over her shoulder, makes sure the Glock she no longer has a permit for is safely tucked against her hip and rushes to the door.

Lorelei is waiting for her in the dark corridor, with nothing but a key ring at hand. "Car's outside," she says. "Better pay the receptionist now so we can hit the road before the sun rises completely."

A few minutes later, Lisbon steps into the other woman's car and makes herself comfortable in the passenger's seat. Lorelei tells her they will change rides after their first stop, and that she can drive then.

"Ready?"

She forces a smile. "Let's go get them."

**II – adjustment**

While Lisbon adjusts to cooperating with the former lover of the man she's been hunting for nearly a decade, they leave Sacramento and head east towards Phoenix, where Lorelei knows a man with useful connections to the FBI and no past related to Red John whatsoever. When Lisbon asks her if they can trust him, the other woman firmly reassures her that her old friend will help them, but the former Senior Agent can't help but doubt this, seeing how Lorelei was manipulated and kept under a serial killer's wing for years.

Temporarily getting out of the state, however, might help making their trace harder to trail and their return later on easier. So Lisbon agrees to follow Lorelei, who apparently knows more about running and hiding, to wherever she might deem they will be safe. She has her doubts still firmly planted in her head, but the better part of her knows that what comes first is their safety.

Because they can only start looking for Jane once they've made sure they won't get caught themselves.

They decide hitchhiking is the harder to shadow and thus safest way of travel and soon Lisbon finds that Lorelei's dulcet words and her big doe eyes are almost always enough to convince strangers to give them short rides. They inevitably stumble upon several suspicious drivers, though, and the occasional man who seems a bit too willing to have them in his backseat, and on these occasions they are quick to retreat and wait for someone else to stop at the gas station they're usually stranded in and pick them up.

One man tries to get them to empty their pockets once, brandishing a presumably stolen gun at them as soon as they enter his SUV, but he could not have foreseen that the seemingly harmless petite brunette with the green eyes would promptly point her own weapon at him, and much more expertly so.

They board the occasional bus when they want to cover longer distances, always making sure to keep a low profile, occupying the seats closest to the far end and avoiding smalltalk with the rest of the passengers. Their days are spent on the road and their nights in seedy motel rooms, both women tense as they wait for the sun to rise so they can be in the presence of others again, an excuse to eschew talking to each other.

Upon crossing the border to Arizona, Lorelei decides they must scatter the proverbial breadcrumbs in order to mislead whoever might be sent to sniff them out. Lisbon agrees, and her companion books them four tickets for two international flights – one to Rome, and the other to Toronto. Lisbon frowns deeply about the wasted money but Lorelei dismisses her concerns with a careless shrug, saying that if there is one problem they don't have, it's a financial one.

Lisbon decides not to press her further on about where she's gotten her money from – she doesn't really want to know, because what she doesn't know won't hurt her.

* * *

A hasty look at a calendar thrown carelessly under the car-seat informs Lisbon that she has been on the run for twelve days.

Twelve days of running circles around California and Arizona along with faceless, nameless drivers, and Lorelei, who has a look of determination plastered to her face as the two of them step out of yet another stranger's car and onto the hard concrete of the sidewalk.

The heat of Phoenix is sweltering but they pay it no mind while walking down the busy street. Lisbon is thankful that they don't seem to attract the eyes of strangers, but then, she imagines they are not exactly a sight to behold; with dark circles under their eyes, unkempt hair and wrinkled clothes, they definitely could use a bath and a soft bed, but these things come second.

What matters now is finding Lorelei's friend, or at least that's what she tells Lisbon, who still eyes her dubiously even after all these miles they've traveled together.

"You still don't trust me," Lorelei remarks idly right after they've crossed the bustling road.

Lisbon doesn't meet her eyes, only tightens her grip on the duffel bug hanging from her shoulder and quickens her pace to keep up with Lorelei. "Of course I do. It's been twelve whole days and I've been doing as you say."

"You just follow me because you have nowhere to go on your own, and you have no resources outside your precious CBI, which you are no longer part of," Lorelei counters, surprisingly casual about the matter.

"Well, you'll have to forgive me if I don't trust you, then." They turn left on a small grocery store, only to find themselves in yet another identical neighborhood Lisbon has no idea how to navigate herself through. It's eerie to her that Lorelei seems to be so at ease here, looking like she knows exactly where she's going.

"I know," Lorelei says simply, casting Lisbon a sidelong glance. "But, as I told you that night in the pub, you'll either trust me fully or not at all. I know I trust _you_."

There is no middle ground here, and Lisbon knows she'll have to listen to her instincts. And her instincts tell her that Lorelei truly wants to help. That she wants to get away as much as Lisbon does. That she too wants to find Jane, even if it is for her own personal reasons. That she too wants to stay alive.

"Good, then," she says with a deep exhale. "Let's trust each other. But I still don't know where on earth we are, or where we're going."

Lorelei smiles just slightly. "I told you already, we got to catch up with Roland before we settle down."

"Who's Roland? And settle down... here? Don't you think it's too-"

"Roland's my friend, the one working for the Leponne crime family. He's one of their streetbosses, and the only one who owes me some favors. And no, we're not staying in Phoenix, it's way to close to California and all the puppets."

Puppets is what Lorelei calls Red John's disciples, the ones he has disbanded all over the state and the ones he probably has planted in other regions, too. Men and women who are blindly devoted to him, would gladly kill and die for him and would do anything to get on his good graces – like informing him about the whereabouts of a former acolyte now gone rogue. Every time Lorelei mentions them her voice is bitter and her expression hard, probably because she's thinking of how she used to be one of them, manipulated and treated as nothing but a disposable tool.

"How can Red John not know about Roland?"

"I never mentioned him." Lorelei's answer is succinct and simple, but not very reassuring. "Oh, you find that hard to believe?"

"A little," Lisbon admits, frowning. "I mean, it's only reasonable that Red John knows everything about you. You know, you were..."

"One of his puppets. Yeah, I haven't forgotten," Lorelei says dryly, speeding up as they make yet another turn left. "But I never thought Roland would be of any use to him, so I never cared to bring him up. I don't know, perhaps I even thought Roland might turn out to be a liability, so I never spoke of him."

A tall man with noncommittal features accidentally bumps into them, then promptly apologizes and resumes his walking. Lorelei huffs in annoyance, but Lisbon has other things in mind.

"Alright, but how can this Roland guy help us out? And he's a streetboss? Of a crime family? _Here in Phoenix_?"

"Shh!" Lorelei shoots her a sharp look. "We're in the middle of a moving crowd, don't be so loud!" Lisbon opens her mouth to say something but before she can do so Lorelei speaks again, leaning towards her conspiratorially, her voice coming out in hushed tones. "Don't imagine some great mafia here, it's really more of a gang thing, but run by a relatively wealthy family... Drugs, prostitution, thefts, blackmails, weapons... Things like that. But they do have a man inside the FBI, and that counts for something."

"I guess that man is Roland?"

"Kind of, yes. No, no, he's not an agent, he's more of an... informant, if you will... But yeah, also a double-agent of sorts." Lorelei gives her a small smirk as they shoulder past a tight cluster of cheering teens watching a street dancer's performance. "Hey, don't get all worked-up. I know you're a cop and all, but you're not here to bring the bad guys to justice. You're on the other side now, don't forget that."

_On the other side_. It sounds weird, and not entirely true. She has not magically stepped into the world of crime and deceit, and she is certainly no Alice in Wonderland, however she cannot say with conviction that she is the same person she used to be a few months ago. But then, only her methods have changed. _Desperate times call for desperate measures_, she thinks, and knows it to be true.

No, she _is_ still the same person. Her personality and beliefs have not changed because of the serial killer coming after them or the elusive conman making their lives even more difficult. She still dreams of the world being a better place, she still wants to help bring out the good in people, she still aches to help those who are in need.

But for the first time, she realizes, she also strives to take care of herself.

* * *

They leave Phoenix at night, to temporarily settle on the outskirts of Santa Fe, stopping for a few days at a time in humble hotels or apartments-for-rent, doing their best to pass as working-class citizens and sometimes even tourists. Lorelei seems comfortable enough with walking through the city streets and exploring the suburbs in pretty white sundresses and a ready smile on her lips, but Lisbon finds more difficulty in easing into this new life.

Lorelei wryly remarks that she's a terrible actress, and she doesn't even try to deny it. When her unlikely companion offers her private lessons in lying, Lisbon simply rolls her eyes and says that she might as well spend her days within the four walls of the hotel room, but she regrets the words as soon as they leave her mouth.

No more than twenty-five days have passed since they left Sacramento, but already she feels that they're straying from their original purpose. It seems that what was initially searching for Jane has turned into a twisted version of hide-and-seek, and when she points that out to Lorelei, the latter huffs in annoyance and reminds her that they have to get off Red John's radar first.

Lisbon has no choice but to agree and try her hardest to blend in with the home-growns. Roland's consistent updates on the FBI's movements are a reassuring aid, and she finds that it gets easier and easier by the day to loosen up, and even enjoy what this newfound hideout has to offer.

Lorelei grins when one morning Lisbon announces she will accompany her to the stores, and for the first time in what feels like decades the only thing concerning Lisbon's mind is what shoes go with that gorgeous navy blue shirt. To her great surprise, Lorelei is of great help when it comes to her tentative attempts at light-hearted conversation, and they are all too willing to chat about dresses and faux Mexican cuisine rather than the manhunt that must be upon them.

That night, however, Lisbon leaves Lorelei sleeping soundly on the double bed and walks out into the small veranda, noiselessly closing the shutters behind her. She slumps down on one of the wooden chairs and stares out at the quiet neighborhood, illuminated only by the soft moonlight. She sits there for hours, listening to the repetitive chants of the harvest flies and wondering whether she made the right choice.

She tries to conjure an image of Jane, where he might be and what he might be doing. She sees him bent over a desk with papers and folders sprawled across it, his eyes wild as he rummages through his files and scribbles down hasty notes. Or he could be lying on new makeshift bed, gaze fixed on a foreign ceiling – or he could be back at the CBI, balancing a cup of Earl Grey brewed to perfection in his hand while maneuvering through the bullpen, his eyes searching around for her but not finding her there.

A lump rises in her throat, a wave of guilt crushing through her the moment she realizes she's been carelessly buying clothes and joking about food while Jane is out there hunting shadows, and her former team probably losing their sleep trying to track her down.

The tears come uninvited, and quickly they turn into sobs that wreck her small body, once strong but now feeling frail and fragile. She buries her head in her hands and weeps, for the life she's lost, the people she's left behind and the pain she has surely caused them.

She doesn't look up when she feels a thin arm find its way around her shoulders, and only cries harder when she hears a soft feminine voice whisper soothing words in her hair.

"It's okay, calm down," Lorelei whispers, and the sudden oddity of the situation is enough to startle Lisbon so that she lifts her head and stares Lorelei straight in the eye. She remains still for several long seconds before abruptly pulling back and wiping her tears with an angry hand, heat rushing to her cheeks.

"Are you alright?" Lorelei asks tentatively, still crouched beside Lisbon.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." She pushes a loose strand of hair away from her forehead and stands, smoothing her night jersey with sweaty palms. "Everything's fine. I just got a bit... emotional there for a second, that's all."

She hates being weak in front of others, especially in moments like this, when she is the one who's supposed to be strong.

"Really, Lorelei, go back to bed. I'll be back inside in a minute."

"Are you sure?" The worried look in the other woman's eyes does not seem feigned, and Lisbon feels an ounce of surprise at the sight of Lorelei looking at her with genuine concern.

"Yes, I'm fine." The strength is back in her voice, and she thanks God for that. "Honestly, let's just get back inside. It's getting cold out here," she says hastily, wrapping her arms tightly around her body despite the pleasant heat of the summer night.

* * *

One evening, Lorelei storms into the room and starts throwing whatever clothes and money they have accumulated into their bags, frantically informing Lisbon that one of Red John's men has managed to locate them.

"What?" Lisbon knows she shouldn't be as surprised as she is, but the relative calmness of the past few days was apparently enough to lure her into a figurative slumber. She helps Lorelei with packing, and asks whether the disciple has informed Red John of their whereabouts.

"Don't worry," Lorelei says with a dark expression. "I took care of him."

Lisbon pauses for a moment, looking at her with narrowed eyes. "What did you do?"

Lorelei shrugs and zips the last of their bags. "He's not going to bother us ever again, that's for sure."

"_Lorelei_." She takes a step back, eyes blazing as she stares at the other woman. It is a fact that Lisbon is no longer an officer of the law, but sitting back and doing nothing while Lorelei might as well be murdering people is not something she is willing to do.

"You should be grateful," Lorelei snaps, whipping her head around to stare back at Lisbon. "If it weren't for my gun, we'd both be dead now, or _worse_."

Lisbon shakes her head, exasperated. Until now, she didn't even know Lorelei was carrying a gun of her own, though she admits to herself it was something she should have expected. "You can't just go around killing people, Lorelei!"

"Oh, spare me your moralizing." Lorelei's tone is filled with disdain. "It was either him or us. Besides, don't tell me _you_ haven't killed your fair share of people."

Lisbon goes quiet at that, acknowledging the simple truth. She supposes Lorelei is right – it was certainly not an innocent man that died today, and if it was self-defense...

Later, when the two women are safely curled up in a narrow bus seat, Lisbon leans closer to Lorelei, her voice barely above a whisper. "How exactly did he find us?"

Lorelei's expression indicates that the answer might be slightly embarrassing. "He didn't _find_ us exactly..."

"Then what?"

"Well," Lorelei looks out of the window. "I kind of stumbled upon him. He recognized me, and probably Red John has told his puppets to be on the lookout for me. There were people around, so he told me to walk to the nearest park, and that he had a gun... Obviously the moron thought I'd be unarmed."

"I thought the same thing until now," Lisbon says flatly, and Lorelei gives her an incredulous look. "Anyway," she says hastily, "what happened next?"

"I played along. We went to the park, and of course there was not a soul around, so he drew his gun. I drew mine."

"And you were quicker, thankfully," Lisbon finishes, sitting back in her seat with a small sigh. "But how did this happen? Does he have his followers scattered in every state?"

"They're surely not all in California," Lorelei notes, and if her countenance is anything to go by, she is furious with herself. "I was fucking stupid today. I didn't think for a minute that I might run into one of them... If we make more mistakes like this, we'll be dead before the next month."

"You couldn't have predicted that," Lisbon says softly, and both are slightly taken aback by this. Lisbon's mind briefly drifts back to the night Lorelei found her crying at the veranda, and instead of laughing at her or simply ignoring her, she had crouched down beside her and comforted her.

Lorelei is probably thinking the same, for her cheeks color slightly and she averts her gaze from Lisbon's.

"Yeah, well."

The air between them is suddenly thick with awkward tension, and Lisbon doesn't think she'll be able to go through this for the rest of their ride. She clears her throat slightly, then puts a hand on Lorelei's right arm, surprising herself with how easy the motion came for her.

Lorelei looks at her questioningly, arching an eyebrow at the unexpected contact.

"Look, I know this might be... well, a bit queer, but..." Lisbon fights with words for a moment, trying to find the correct ones to describe what she wants to say. "What I mean is, since we've established that we can trust each other, we could actually try to get past all this... this..."

"Dislike that we have for each other?"

Lisbon rolls her eyes, pulling her hand away from Lorelei as the other woman gives a small smirk. "I wasn't going to say it like that, but yes. I mean, we're practically working together now, we might as well start liking each other... hell, at least we can try, though I don't see how we're going to accomplish that."

She can't help the smile that forms on her lips when Lorelei chuckles, nudging her slightly. "Sure thing, Teresa. You'll see, you and I will become the best of friends."

Lisbon rests her head back on the bus seat, still smiling. "Oh, great. Maybe after we take care of everything we can braid each other's hair and talk about boys."

"Oh, and paint our nails pink while watching _Sex and the City_."

They spend the rest of the bus ride in a strangely companionable silence, and when they're finally out of town and in a gas station once again, Lisbon asks where they're heading next.

"I was thinking we should leave USA, but I knew you wouldn't agree," Lorelei says, ignoring Lisbon's glare. "So I guess we could just move from state to state for now, until we get completely off Red John's radar. Then we go round looking for Goldilocks... assuming he'll stay quiet and in one place until we do that."

Lisbon sighs, looking around the gas station with her hands in her pockets. "Great. So we stay here, eat something, and wait until someone willing to drive us to, say, Colorado shows up."

Lorelei folds her arms loosely about her chest, staring out at the empty road. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

They rent a small apartment outside of Denver, property of an old lady who was willing to make them a good discount if they helped her with the laundry twice a week. This time, both women are less inclined to spend much time in the bustling city, fearing they might be spotted by someone more intelligent than the man Lorelei managed to take out in Santa Fe. One day, while ironing their own and their housekeeper's clothes, Lorelei says that they would be harder to recognize if they altered their hair.

Lisbon isn't willing to change anything about her hair. It's taken her years to grow them in length, and studiously avoiding hair salons has become routine to her by now. She rather likes her color, too – she knows it goes well with her pale skin and emerald eyes, and she cannot deny she has received quite a few compliments about it as well.

Lorelei doesn't seem to have such qualms, and she risks a visit to a hairdresser's early one morning. She tries for nearly an hour to persuade Lisbon to go with her, but the latter stubbornly refuses, leaving Lorelei to go alone.

When she returns to their apartment a good four hours later, Lisbon almost doesn't recognize her – which, she reasons, is certainly a good thing. Lorelei's short dark hair has been replaced by wavy hair extensions the color of sand, reaching halfway down her back.

"Blonde's not really my color," she says with a shrug, "but it sure is a hell of a change, don't you think?"

Lisbon doesn't ask where she found the money for such an extravagant new hairdo, knowing she probably stole a respectable amount of cash and took it with her the night they left Sacramento. Instead, she repeats that she isn't willing to do anything to her own hair, refusing the bottle of bleacher Lorelei tries to shove in her hand.

With a frustrated huff, Lorelei slumps down on the bed next to Lisbon, giving her an indignant look. "You don't have to go Barbie-blonde if you don't want to, but at least do _something_. A light brown dye, and a different style... a bob would look good on you."

It takes two whole days for Lorelei to convince Lisbon to buy a hair dye, and meticulously helps her with the tricky process. After they're done, Lisbon stares at her reflection in the mirror, mournfully shaking her head. Soft honey-brown curls frame her face, and even though she likes the color, she thinks it's plain horrible on her.

Lorelei rolls her eyes and smiles before leaving, telling Lisbon she's going out to buy them some food for the night, but Lisbon knows she'll be talking on the phone with Roland, asking him to provide her with more information on the FBI agents that are searching for her. She might as well be asking for resources, connections and money and weapons that might help her get closer to finding out who truly was behind her sister's death.

Lisbon is certain that deep down, Lorelei knows it was Red John. She understands that the other woman wants to be absolutely certain, and in a way, it is fairly convenient. As long as Lorelei is focused on keeping them safe rather than seeking revenge, she'll have more chances to find Jane.

As she lies on the bed watching a dull talk show on the TV, waiting for Lorelei to return with their dinner and debating whether they should buy cellphones, she hears the doorbell ring, the rippling sound reverberating around the dark apartment.

She abruptly turns off the TV and gets off the bed, her hand automatically reaching for her gun. She curses when she remembers it's in the kitchen - she runs to fetch it and only starts for the door when her Glock is safely in her hand, her mind racing with possibilities as the bell rings again.

She knows it can't be Lorelei, who has her own keys. She tries to calm herself, repeating in her head that anyone who might be working for Red John wouldn't give her time to prepare herself by ringing the bell. But what if it's the FBI? What if they've managed to track them down?

She desperately struggles to remember if they've made any mistakes, if they've left behind evidence of their presence in motels and gas stations. Perhaps one of the drivers who took them from Sacramento to here has recognized Lorelei and notified the FBI... maybe one of the passengers they shared bus rides with was one of Red John's accomplices, or even an undercover agent following them all the way from California.

Her hand reaches out for the handle, and she damns whoever built the house for not putting a spy hole on the door. Though she keeps her fingers tight around her gun, she makes sure not to keep it in plain view, knowing that would cost her if whoever is outside turns out to be an officer of the law.

With one decisive move, she pulls the door open, only to stand there in shock, her mouth agape as the gun drops to the floor with a loud clatter.

She can't seem to find her voice, and for several endless seconds she stays rooted to the spot, her eyes wide. She shakes her head, and when she finally speaks, her voice comes out as a sharp exhale.

"Jane?"


End file.
